Archive of Our Own

1

It had been nearly two years since everything had changed—give or take a few weeks. Jack had to wonder how many people besides him could say they’d been shot by Commander Shepard and yet lived to tell the tale…

Nearly two years since Alliance forces had pulled him off the Citadel, since he and Oleg had been released and told to get to work. No rest for the wicked, of course.

And over the following months, there had been reconciliations—and threats. Or threats followed by reconciliations. But in the end, new habits had formed.

Oleg had sat him down one day and given him a lecture on the need to get out and about. Told him that his years of running Cerberus with Reapers in his head had done neither his well being nor his social skills any favors. And now that sanity had returned to the world, so it would to Jack Harper.

Jack hadn’t protested. He knew he owed Oleg for his years of friendship, for the work he’d done for him.

It had been awkward at first, almost inevitably so. How did one learn to share a drink and a meal with one man he’d nearly killed? Or laugh with another whom he’d fought against in a war? Awkward silences, poorly timed jokes, and, on occasion, enough alcohol to break down the barriers to honesty.

But now for the first time since all that, he’d been left alone. Steven had been needed to finalize details on New Arcturus. David was away for his regular visit with Kahlee Sanders. And Oleg had been awfully tight-lipped about his plans, unusually so, and instead stuck with a near endless litany of regret that the timing of his trip had coincided with those of the other two.

Jack had sighed, told him he was being a mother hen, and then shooed him away. Oleg had looked deeply skeptical but in the end, he left. As he should have, Jack thought to himself.

He was a fully grown man, after all, had been for… entirely too long now. He’d gotten through these things before, had done so many, many times.

He could, in fact, handle being left on his own for two weeks.

(He could not handle being left on his own for two weeks.)

It had been something of a shock to discover. He’d looked forward to it, even. Peace, freedom from Oleg’s hovering, and quiet.

For the first time since the end of the war, Jack had time alone enough for his thoughts to get away from him. The habits he’d developed to avoid such a situation fell apart on his own.

He’d created a system, a structure, that had only ever allowed him to think he’d come out the other end of his experiences intact.

And now that he was left to his own devices, it was all crumbling.

It was, Jack reflected, probably a very poor choice to sit in the dark and nurse a glass of bourbon with a cigarette (or two or three). But he found he couldn’t help it. As smoke filled his lungs and nicotine provided too much clarity (he poured another glass), he remembered how it had all felt.

Years of increasing desperation in a race against an unknown invasion. Breakthroughs followed by failures. They’d made genuine discoveries. Project Lazarus would never be scaled up, but the individual steps had generated genuine medical breakthroughs.

(After the war, he’d transferred the patents to Miranda Lawson. It was the least he could do.)

As the hours passed, he fell deeper into memory. The many hours of arguments with Oleg over how he ran Cerberus. The sensations of the Reapers in his mind. Hours spent alone with only the dying Anadius for company.

Jack forced himself to relax his grip on his glass before it broke.

Suddenly he remembered death notifications. Most Cerberus employees had no families. He preferred it that way. They were more single-minded with fewer outside distractions. And it saved him the trouble of needing to notify a family member of someone’s death.

But occasionally…

His stomach churned as he remembered the disapproval on Shepard’s face and the condemnation in her voice when she’d called him after dealing with David Archer’s disaster of a project. They’d lost so many in such a short time.

He ran a hand down his face. Not even Oleg was so direct. Oleg argued with him but his disapproval was in his eyes and tone. Amelia Shepard had no scruples preventing her from thoroughly excoriating him.

He’d sat and listened, allowing her to carry on. And when she’d paused, he’d waited a beat before asking if she was finished. She’d nodded, and he’d coolly asked her about her next assignment.

It hadn’t been easy. He’d wanted her to understand but by then she’d made clear that she couldn’t. He’d often been grateful the QEC’s image lacked the quality to show the contempt he was certain her eyes held.

Just how pathetic had he become over the last two years?

He stubbed out his cigarette and took a drink from his bourbon. He could feel its effects by now.

His thoughts had wandered now to Amelia Shepard. Dangerous territory indeed. He threw back the last of his drink and walked out to his balcony to stare out at London.

The rebuilding efforts were still underway. Before the invasion, the entire horizon would have been lit up with the city’s lights. Now it all went in one direction. He’d seen the lights spread—albeit too slowly—in the time since Cord-Hislop’s headquarters had been finished and he’d moved in, but still, everything to the north was swathed in darkness, and he knew it would be years before it wasn’t anymore.

He gripped the railing of the balcony tightly. Uncomfortably so.

The memories had followed him.

He should have known better.

2

For the next three nights, Jack repeated the process, and each night he rediscovered how impossible it was to outrun your own memories.

He’d failed.

His memories of his encounter with Shepard on the Citadel were hazy at best. The Alliance doctors who’d fixed him afterwards had said it was undoubtedly due to the indoctrinating effects of the nanites.

What he did remember was Shepard pleading with him. And he trying to do what she asked but being unable to.

And then she’d shot him.

He remembered the Reapers fleeing his mind and knowing peace for the first time since Shanxi. He remembered looking at Earth.

And then nothing until he woke up in an Alliance medbay.

He walked out to the balcony, bourbon in hand. It was his third of the night. Oleg would kill him when he got back.

He couldn’t quite bring himself to care, though, not now with his mind set on Amelia Shepard and the mystery of why she hadn’t killed him.

It would have been easy. He knew her marksmanship scores. Better than his had been once upon a time, and he’d prided himself on being a good shot.

There was no reason for her to miss.

She’d shot once and she’d missed.

It made no sense.

Yes, she’d been injured.

Nonetheless, he’d been facing her. Close to her even.

He took a drink, this time letting the liquid sit on his tongue, hoping it would distract him.

It didn’t.

Finally, before he could think too much about it, he went to his terminal and placed a call.

An hour later, Amelia Shepard was on his doorstep.

When he opened the door, she gave him a tired and somewhat annoyed look, and he almost felt badly about the summons.

“You’re lucky I was on the Citadel,” she said.

“I know,” he replied, trying his best to sound something approaching humble.

She rolled her eyes. “Well?”

“Oh. Yes.” He stepped aside and led her inside.

She stopped at his kitchen and turned on more lights before peering carefully at him. “I’m making us both some coffee,” she announced.

“Um.”

She glared at him.

He shut up, but gestured at the various things she needed. Finally, the machine was running and she turned to him again.

“I won’t ask until we’ve both had a cup,” she said. Though she did continue to study him.

He wondered if he looked as badly as he felt.

Even before the coffee her eyes looked too alert, too sharp for comfort, and he strongly suspected she saw more than he wanted her to.

The machine beeped and Jack handed her two mugs. “I’m amazed you even have two,” she muttered.

Too sharp indeed.

“Sugar?” she asked more loudly.

He’d forgotten. He found some sugar and handed her the milk before she could ask.

She thanked him, her tone as sharp as her look.

He winced—but only once she wasn’t looking.

She handed him back the sugar and milk and once he’d put them away, she demanded, “Well?”

He sighed. Now that she was here…

She spotted the balcony. “Fine,” she said directly, “Let’s at least sit outside.”

“Of course.”

She nodded and led the way. Outside, she settled into a chair, took several drinks, admired the view appropriately, and after all that he was just alert enough to notice that she ever so subtly relaxed a little.

Shepard looked at him again. The balcony wasn’t well lit and he wondered why she bothered.

Then she set her mug definitively down. “Why am I here?”

“Mainly because you refused to talk over the vid chat,” Jack explained helpfully.

She glared at him. He could feel it. “You weren’t exactly coherent.”

He took a drink from his own mug. In between the wait, the cold air, and the coffee, he’d sobered enough to realize he had Shepard in his apartment and he didn’t know what to do with her.

“That didn’t mean you had to come down here.”

She sighed and traced an indeterminate pattern on the table. “Petrovsky asked Anderson to ask me to keep an eye out for you. It’s… why I was on the Citadel in the first place. I mean, I did have business for the Council, but I’ve been dragging it out.”

Jack blinked and rubbed his forehead as he took this in.

“So,” she began firmly, “why am I here?”

Well, now he really did need to ask. She didn’t sound as though she would accept any more delays.

“Harper. Just answer the damn question already so we can go to bed.”

He blinked at her.

She sighed in annoyance. “Don’t be an idiot. It’s 3 am. I should be sleeping right now.”

Maybe he wasn’t fully sober just yet after all.

“Why did you miss?” he blurted out in a hurry, suddenly a little worried she’d shoot him again if he didn’t just ask.

He could hear her surprise in the silence.

“On the Citadel,” he added.

“You brought me down here to ask why I’d missed?”

Shepard’s annoyance was clearly threatening to turn into anger.

Jack inhaled deeply. “Yes,” he admitted. “Not that I’d intended to summon you, you simply weren’t very communicative.”

He heard her sigh. “Harper…” And then he was pretty sure she mumbled a “Why me?” that he wasn’t about to try to answer.

She sighed again, seeming to realize that she could either call him an idiot again or she could answer his question and get back to sleep that much sooner.

“I don’t know,” she finally said.

Well, that was a blow to his ego. “Ah.”

The outline of her shrugged. “I’ve wondered myself over the last couple of years. You’d certainly earned getting shot, so why let you off?”

“I, um, don’t suppose—”

“No,” she replied, so quickly and sharply that he was tempted not to believe her.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “I suppose that’s that.”

She drank the last of her coffee. He could tell by the regretful thunk her cup made when she put it back down.

“Refill?” she asked then, to his surprise.

“Yes.” Maybe it would finish clearing his mind.

“Come on then,” she said. “I’m not going to just bring you coffee.”

He smiled at that, against his will, and glad she couldn’t see it in the dark. Then stood and walked with her.

In the apartment, they both blinked at the brightness of the lights, and it was so mundane, so normal an occurrence that Jack felt the metaphorical ground beneath him solidifying—and realizing all over again that he’d called Shepard in the middle of the night and she’d come despite everything.

She was looking at him oddly and he realized he was staring before she turned and went the rest of the way into the kitchen. He followed.

She got quickly to work as he watched. She remembered where he kept the sugar. She returned the milk to the fridge. And then she paused and looked around, a speculative look on her face.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know her thoughts but asked anyway. “What is it?”

She turned to him and took a drink from her mug. “Maybe we should move inside,” she replied afterwards. “I’m getting a bit chilled.”

That wasn’t what she’d been thinking about, he was sure of it. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to sit somewhere where they could actually see each other but he was certain that was what really lay behind her request and equally certain he couldn’t say no.

“Yes,” he said.

In the living room, Shepard waited for him to sit down first before choosing her own seat. Adjacent to his own, not looking directly at him. Perhaps she held some sympathy for him after all.

Shepard took a drink from her coffee before setting her mug down firmly, then she sat back and looked at him. He didn’t care for the way her look felt—she still saw far too much and he was beginning to wonder where she was going with all this.

“Why this sudden obsession?”

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“You called me at 2 in the morning! I was asleep!”

“And you came anyway, why?” The question was out before he could stop to think if he really wanted to know.

“Mainly because I can’t say no to Anderson and Petrovsky takes advantage of that sometimes.” She sighed. "Just tell me what's going on here."

Jack began to regret having called her. Well, no, that had begun the moment their call had ended and he'd realized she was actually on her way.

"And be honest," she added. "For once."

He was offended. "I've only ever been honest with you."

"You're very good at lying by omission and you know it. Now, go on. Answer my question. You dragged me here in the middle of the night, you might as well see it through. Then I can go back to sleep and you can carry on with life, and I'll be able to tell Anderson, who'll be able to tell Petrovsky that we all lived."

She paused and grinned the most threatening grin he'd ever been on the receiving end of. "Don't forget that I'm a Spectre. I could absolutely decide just to kill you and tell everyone galactic security hinged on it. They'd believe me, too, given everything."

"I'd believe you if you hadn't missed when I was standing right in front of you," he replied with what was absolutely an unwise level of smugness.

Her eyes hardened a bit and she pulled out her pistol. "Oh?"

"You actually came armed?"

"Always," she replied as she replaced her weapon. "Not only is it you I'm visiting, but the last time I went somewhere unarmed, I ended up falling through a fish tank, and we aren't doing that again. And, by the way, that last time was also your fault. So. Talk before I have to tell Anderson I shot you." She paused. "Again."

She sounded as though she'd enjoy it, too.

Well. If she put it like that…

Unburdening himself to a woman who’d shot him once and looked very much as though she would leap at the chance to do so again hadn’t been on his list of things to do while the others were away.

But he did it anyway—mostly because he really didn’t want to get shot again. Once was enough in his opinion.

(The remainder of the reason was that it was possibly his only chance out of the mire that he’d gotten stuck in and was thoroughly sick of.)

So he told her everything that had been on his mind the last few days, because once he’d started, he found that it got easier and easier.

Shepard, for her part, was surprisingly willing to listen. She drank her coffee, asked appropriate questions, but mainly she listened, and as she did, her expression softened a bit. Understanding perhaps, though he suspected it was too much to hope for.

When he finished, she sat back and gave him a long look.

“So now what?” she asked.

He blinked. Uncertain how to take that.

“What will you do now?” she tried to clarify.

“My job,” he replied as though it should have been obvious.

She rubbed her temples and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “Give me strength.”

Finally she looked back at him, sternly, too. “You do at least understand what’s been going on, right? This long overdue crisis of conscience you’ve been having since being left on your own?”

“Do give me some credit, Shepard.”

“So no then.”

He glared at her.

She ignored him and pulled up the time on her omnitool. “I’m far too tired for this, Harper. I need sleep.”

Jack sighed at the truth of her statement. Even he was starting to feel exhaustion creeping in. He stood up and as she watched him, grabbed a spare blanket and even a pillow.

He handed them to her without ceremony.

She blinked at him.

“Well, I’m not giving you my bed, Shepard,” he said, “and I don’t have a spare room.”

For the first time that night, a smile tugged at her lips. “Thanks,” she said with surprising grace. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it back to the Citadel.”

“You wouldn’t have, no,” he said. Then he looked around to double check the state of things and said, “Good night.”

She nodded, clearly still a bit stunned, and he turned and left.

In his own bed, Jack lay there, now frustratingly awake. Checking the time—again—he sent a message to his assistant letting him know he wouldn’t be in that day and to reschedule his meetings. If he even had any, which he couldn’t remember.

Perhaps Anderson would kill them both upon his return. That would save him a lot of trouble. No need for navel gazing levels of introspection if he’d be dead soon.

He found the thought oddly cheering.

He rolled over.

He didn’t. Not really.

That thought was properly cheering. He realized it was quite possibly the first time since the Citadel that he’d actually had an opinion of whether he lived or died.

What exactly had Shepard done to him with her questions? Or had it been her too knowing looks? She’d seen him, properly, he thought.

It was unsettling—he had no idea what she’d seen. He’d kept such careful control of how others perceived him for so long only to have Shepard come along and dismantle it all.

He sat up and flipped his pillow before rolling over again.

He tried to force his thoughts onto a different rail. He had no desire to think about Amelia Shepard for a moment longer than he had to.

3

They both slept late the next day. Unusually so, in Jack’s case. He’d consistently slept less before the Citadel and yet had woken up at civilized hours of the day.

At least he was awake before Amelia. Shepard. At least he was awake before Shepard was. He walked softly past her to the kitchen and got the coffee going.

She joined him as he was pouring his cup. He glanced at her and prepared one for her too and handed it to her.

She took it silently and he smirked a little—just a little—in amusement. She was apparently no better than Oleg was before his first cup of the day.

They drank their respective drinks in silence. It wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as Jack had expected it to be. At least not until he realized that he wanted to sit on the balcony but had the feeling that inviting Amelia along would say more than he wanted it to.

She solved the dilemma for him and went out entirely on her own. He couldn’t decide if he was amused or annoyed.

She left the door open behind her, though, a clear indication of what she expected from him.

Both—annoyance and amusement—were good options, he decided as he followed her out.

She sat in the sun, tilting her head up to take it in as she closed her eyes. Even looking as rumpled and exhausted as she did, he found it difficult to keep his eyes off of her. There was something so open and honest about her that he couldn’t help but feel drawn to her.

He looked away quickly when she began to turn towards him, feeling a desperate desire not to get caught.

She eyed him contemplatively for a moment, still not having said a word, before taking a long drink of her coffee. When she set it down, she looked at him again, but this time in a piercing fashion that meant she had no intention of letting last night’s—or rather this morning’s—conversation go.

“So,” she said.

He waited.

Her eyes shifted to her mug and back to his, a sheepish look in them. “Thanks for that, by the way, you made it surprisingly well. It was… almost perfect, which is odd.”

He winced slightly. “Lazarus.”

She blinked, clearly suspicious. “That was, what, four, five years ago?”

He shrugged, doing his best to look and sound casual. “It’s a very distinctive coffee preference.”

“Hm.” She eyed him carefully again but reached for the mug and took another drink. The way her eyes closed as she drank told him exactly how close he’d gotten in making it.

“No one else gets it right,” she murmured, mostly to herself, as she set it back down. And when she looked at him again, the contemplative expression was back.

Jack cleared his throat. “So,” he echoed.

She smiled slightly. “Yes,” she said, “well, did you wake up knowing how to solve your crisis?”

The smirk she gave him while she waited his response was on the wrong side of predatory and he knew she was already thinking of her threats from last night.

“You know, if I went and got a real therapist, he wouldn’t threaten me with violence.”

“And you’d never be as honest, either. Besides, you’d never go in the first place.”

“Well. True.”

“I know.” She paused. “So you’ll have to deal with me instead.”

“For the best, probably. You’re the only one who’d put up with me.”

Their eyes met for a beat too long at that and he realized what he’d said.

This time she cleared her throat. “You’re stalling.”

Jack sighed. “No, I didn't,” he admitted.

Amelia—Shepard nodded as though she’d expected him to say that. “I was hoping you’d say you had so I could go back to the Citadel, but that would be too easy.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Jack replied dryly.

She waved off his reply. “Expected, really.”

He was pretty sure he should be insulted by that.

She continued: “Expect the worst, hope for the best and all that.”

Yes, definitely insulted, but since he’d managed to drag her down here, he refrained from continuing down that path.

“So,” she said—again, though he noticed she was far more alert than the first time she’d said it a few minutes ago.

He waited—again.

Amelia. Shepard wrapped her hands around her mug. “You’re rather remarkable, Harper. It raises questions about your conscience—or lack thereof. Two years.”

“I didn’t bring you down here to insult me, you know.”

“Somehow, I doubt we’d make any further progress on the question if I asked again why you really did. You’re a big boy, you can deal.” She was pointing her finger at him now.

She was still annoyed with him for all this. Noted, he thought.

“Look, you spent your life living and breathing the notion that the ends justify the means, and now, here we are, on the other side of the Reapers, and you’re discovering that maybe that wasn’t really true.”

Uncomfortable but true. “Not inaccurate,” he said.

She really did have a distinct Commander Shepard Look, he discovered.

“So now you’re remembering everything and trying and failing to sift through it, see what really was worth it, and you’re afraid you’ll come out the other side finding that you sold your soul and all you got for it was a bunch of Reaper tech in your blood.”

“Once again, not entirely inaccurate.”

That earned him another Look. Who knew Amelia Shepard could be quite so terrifying? Well. That explained the Reapers’ reaction to her, actually.

She glanced, then, at her coffee mug and her expression almost imperceptibly softened. “Maybe it’s selfish, but… Lazarus was worth it. To me anyway. I’m glad I’m alive.” Her eyes flicked up to his and he was struck by the seriousness in them.

“I pulled up the reports they’ve been sending us on you,” she said, forging ahead before he could fully process what she’d said.

“Sorry, reports? On me? To… whom, exactly?”

“Yes, yes, and to us Spectres,” she replied.

“That wasn’t an explanation,” he said, exasperated with her uncharacteristically laconic reply.

“You didn’t really think you just got let go after the war, did you? We’ve all been keeping an eye on you.”

“All of my work has gone into the Alliance for the rebuilding,” he protested. “They seize enough of Cord-Hislop’s profits that we barely have enough to invest in expanding our own rebuilding efforts, which is counterproductive, I’d add.”

Shepard shrugged. “Not my wheelhouse. And besides the point.”

“…Fine,” he conceded ungraciously. “Why were you rereading the reports?”

“You’ve been quietly working on humanity’s behalf. We wouldn’t be nearly so far along without you. Rumor even has it that you provided the data they needed to repair the relays.”

Jack sat back against his seat, uncertain where she was going with all this. He couldn’t exactly deny anything she said.

“All those things you said about wanting to protect humanity from what lurks in the darkness? You meant them.”

“Yes.”

“Your real dilemma is that you became the monster lurking in the darkness, preying on us at our weakest.”

His mouth went dry as he was forced to admit the truth of it. “Yes.”

Amelia let the words hang between them. Jack wished she wouldn't, but she simply looked at him. Worse, there was no condemnation in her gaze.

Condemnation he could have dealt with. Would have welcomed it even. It was understandable, nothing he hadn't thought over the last few days.

Instead, the woman who not even twelve hours earlier had threatened to shoot him with a rather terrifying amount of glee was now looking at him with something that approached compassionate understanding.

It was unnerving. She really did see too much.

Finally she looked away, deliberately reaching for her coffee and taking a drink from it. He hated it--all of it: her compassion, her understanding, the way she saw him.

He stood suddenly and walked to the railing, feeling her eyes upon him the whole time. He leaned forwards, gripping the railing tightly.

Perhaps in all the years of standing beside him, of fighting for him, Oleg had stopped seeing the situation as it really was. Or perhaps he was simply too close.

Shepard, though... As far as he knew, she hated him with the same fervor she had the day they'd argued over the Collector base. She had no reason to be kind, no reason to dress the matter up in pretty words that obscured the truth, and no reason to be anything less than brutally honest. She didn't think well enough of him to see him as anything but what he was, and she had gotten to the heart of the matter as efficiently as the most skilled of surgeons.

The silence dragged on. Amelia, it seemed, had no intention of speaking now that she had said her piece.

Neither did he. What more could he say?

Eventually, though, just before the despair could truly settle in, he heard her moving towards him. She came and stood next to him, within reach and yet a comfortable distance away.

"I thought about leaving," she said as she looked out over the city. "I thought perhaps you'd prefer it if I did. It would have been easy. But then I realized that's the spot I found you in. So instead I'll ask you this, again, what are you going to do now?"

Jack turned to her. "I fail to see why you're bothering."

She faced him in turn. "It's complicated." A dodge if he'd ever heard one.

"Shepard," he said sharply.

"Answer my question first."

She really was the most infuriating woman he'd ever known.

"Damn stubborn woman," he said.

She laughed, genuinely. "You sound like Hackett." She stepped closer and nudged his shoulder with hers. "Come on. Tell me. You know I won't drop it until you do."

He did, in fact, know. He sighed. "I don't see why you think my answer should have changed from the last time you asked, and you didn't approve of that answer."

The corner of her mouth curved into a small smile. "Harper," she said pointedly, "you keep missing the point of my question. Now that you know what you were, what will you do?"

Jack’s grip on the railing tightened in response to her question.

And then he realized. “My job,” he said again, but this time with more understanding.

Amelia was studying him, an approving glint in her eyes.

“Despite the—hindrances, I’m doing what I set out to do in the first place,” he added, keeping his lingering resentment at the Alliance in check.

Amelia nodded. “Yes,” she said, “you are.” She paused thoughtfully, her fingers tapping the railing as she did. “And while it’s not my wheelhouse—at all—I can speak to Hackett about what you said about rebuilding Cord-Hislop.”

That took him by surprise. Though perhaps it shouldn’t, he reflected, she’d understood far more than he’d expected, why not this too?

“Thank you,” he replied sincerely.

She nodded in reply, but still she looked at him as though she were trying to solve a puzzle.

He turned his attention back to the skyline, thinking about the point she’d made. In the distance he could make out a construction site, and as he watched the people working, he realized they were reusing as many materials as had been salvageable. The walls weren’t smooth and perfect and new, they were built like the brick buildings of old, but with the old materials instead of uniform bricks. He frowned a little at that, making note to look into how it was being done and if it would really work.

“When you told me about everything that had happened, you actually told me a lot about the indoctrination…”

He looked back at Amelia. She was frowning and he had the distinct sense that she was looking for something that was missing.

“But you don’t blame it for what you became,” she added slowly.

“No,” he said honestly, the truth of matter settling into his chest.

“Shouldn’t you, though?” Her question was genuine, but he felt a point hidden behind it.

He sighed. And then remembered her earlier promise. “It’s complicated,” he echoed with a challenging look.

Amelia blinked and then laughed. Again. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to feel what the sound made him feel.

“All right,” she conceded. “Question for question, if we must.”

“Your terms are acceptable,” he replied formally, but he didn’t even try to hide his amusement as he did.

Her eyes glittered with silent laughter and he realized something in her had softened towards him.

“Well,” she began, “I suppose you should know that my Citadel business was you. Anderson contacted me and said he was worried about you. He couched it in all sorts of official language so he could make it a proper assignment. So I came to the Citadel and waited.”

“I thought Oleg—”

She nodded. “He did. That’s what prompted Anderson’s request.”

Jack sighed with exasperation.

Amelia smiled a little. “Weren’t you glad when I showed up? Don’t complain too loudly.”

Jack rolled his eyes which she rather absurdly took as acquiescence.

“Anyway, I… admit to never having been all that fond of the Alliance’s acceptance of you, given the entirety of your past. But… you were actually honest about your story, and that did mean something to me. I couldn’t just leave after all that.”

Last night he would have found her answer insulting, and maybe it was a little, but now he found he could understand her point of view, even if it did sting a bit.

“Your turn,” she said then.

He grimaced a little, but she was right. He hadn’t admitted this even to Oleg, and it felt odd that she should be the one to hear it. But even as he had the thought he realized that in many ways it was actually appropriate.

“In many ways,” he said, “I’ve thought that it was my missteps, my own pride, that led to everything that happened during the war. If I had listened to Oleg, we would never have been in such close contact with the Reaper technology that enabled such thorough indoctrination.”

She frowned. “But weren’t you already indoctrinated?”

He shot her a wry look. “I did say it was complicated. There was a qualitative difference in my experiences before and after we went to the Collector base. I’m not at all convinced things would have gone as they did if I hadn’t been so certain we could control everything we found. That I knew best. It was folly of the worst sort.”

“Jack…”

Their eyes met as she realized what she’d done.

Her cheeks pinked and she looked briefly away before visibly steeling herself and continuing on. “Jack,” she said firmly, “you know as well as I do how indoctrination is… permanent.”

He shook his head. “Nonetheless.”

She elbowed him. Hard. “Ow,” he protested.

“Don’t be an idiot, Harper,” she said with a glare.

“Shepard!”

She gave him her Look again.

“This is very much the opposite of the conversation we had last night,” he argued.

“Yeah, because last night—this morning, by the way, remember, you couldn’t wait to call me until actual daytime.” She glared again.

He could live with her being annoyed about it.

“Go on,” he said, ignoring her complaint.

She rolled her eyes but did so. “This morning you needed to hear me say what you thought about the whole situation. Right now, you need to hear what I think.”

“And what do you think?” Jack asked.

She turned back to looking over the skyline again. A breeze came through and the loose strands of her hair were blown gently about. His hand flexed as he fought the urge to tuck them behind her ear again.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that you have always loved Earth and humanity. You seem to see something in us that the rest of us don’t—or maybe we do and we just don’t appreciate it, or…” She shrugged. “You get my point though.”

He did though he could only vaguely guess at where she was going with it.

Amelia pushed a strand of her out of her face as she pressed on. “And when you were young, you saw our species’ first contact with aliens play out in the worst possible way. You fought in the resulting war, and there you met the Reapers. And I remember, still dream about it even, the vision from the Protheans. I still can’t quite describe it. I’d bet you can’t either.”

She turned to face him again, and this time he saw only the understanding he’d sought for so many years in her eyes. He nodded.

“I’ve tried,” he said.

She smiled subtly. “But they did more than that. They left you with a piece of themselves that over the years…” She paused, hesitating. “Well, slowly they—it changed you.”

She reached out and gently traced the scarring the nanites had left behind. “And worse,” she added softly.

He stilled beneath her touch. It had been a very long time indeed since anyone had touched him in such a way and it was almost overwhelming. Too, he hadn’t realized until that moment the tremendous vulnerability his scars carried.

He reached up and lowered her hand. She withdrew it slowly enough that he knew she wasn’t offended.

“I had a long time to think after you went to bed,” Amelia said. “I was exhausted and needed to sleep but my mind couldn’t let it go—the story you’d told me, I mean.”

“And?” he prompted, needing to know what conclusions she’d drawn.

“And I’m not done thinking about it all. It’s messy and—and real. But I realized there were so many parallels between us, how similar we are.” She paused and bit her lip thoughtfully.

“I think,” she began after a moment, “that it’s…” Another pause and she started over. “Things could have—would have—gone really differently for me if those scientists had found a Reaper artifact instead of a Prothean beacon. And that, well, it makes it easier, a lot easier, to understand you and the choices you’ve made.”

Jack turned back to the railing, gripping it too tightly again, bolstering himself against the unexpected assault of emotion from realizing that she really had seen him.

More than that, she understood—truly understood.

As he gripped the railing, Amelia continued. Softly, almost gently.

“And the thing is—it all played a role. It all came together messily, grotesquely even. You fought the Reapers and then they made you one of theirs, and still, you were fighting them but you started fighting us, too. Humanity. And there are so many things about indoctrination that we’ll never understand now that the Reapers are gone… but… I know—”

She paused again. Abruptly.

“Thessia,” she breathed, in the way one does when a puzzle piece falls into place. “There was something off about our conversation, and it’s bothered me ever since. And for all the time that’s passed, all that’s gone on since then… I just—I just realized. You knew. You knew something was wrong and you could slip out from behind them sometimes but not enough. It was never enough, was it?”

He shook his head. “No,” he confirmed. “It wasn’t.”

“Jack…”

And the way she said his name made something in him ache.

He withdrew. Lifted his hands from the railing and stepped back. “Enough, Amelia,” he said, letting the fullness of his exhaustion out in his tone.

She stopped, waiting.

“I—I need a walk,” he said. "Alone," he added firmly.

Amelia nodded. She glanced away and then back at him with a wry smile. “Mind if I borrow your shower while you’re out?”

“Oh.” He paused awkwardly as he processed her request. “I’ll get a towel for you.”

“Thanks,” she said. She pulled up the time on her omnitool. “I’ll hurry, then grab some stuff off the Citadel and come back. Should only take a few hours with shuttles as they are.”

He blinked. “You’re… coming back.”

“I don’t think I’m allowed to leave you alone in this state, not for too long anyway. Last thing I need is Petrovsky to come hunt me down.”

“Shepard, what do you think will happen?” He really hadn’t expected her to move in. Oleg and the others would be back in a week and a-half.

“What I don’t want to have happen is you calling me in the middle of the night again,” she replied. She’d put a hand on her hip and her eyes sparkled with amusement.

“You intend to spend the next week and a-half on my couch?”

“Yup,” she answered in a tone mixing resignation and determination.

He arched an eyebrow skeptically at her as he crossed his arms and stood there for a moment, watching her.

She smiled crookedly at him. “Yes,” she said, even less convincingly.

“Hm.” He pushed off from the railing and decided he didn’t want to think too hard about the implications of any of this. “I’ll get you that towel—and I’ll expect your return.”

“Great,” Amelia said brightly. “And thank you.”

4

Jack handed Amelia a spare towel and left the apartment almost as quickly as he could while maintaining his dignity. She was unexpected and unpredictable and coming back. He rubbed his forehead as a headache began to settle in behind his eyes.

Once on the sidewalk, he picked a direction without much thought and began to walk. It wasn’t exactly a typical habit of his, but the last—he checked the time—not even twelve hours had been difficult, and he suddenly felt restless.

Jack walked quickly, barely paying attention to his surroundings. Not the wisest course of action, perhaps, but at the moment he didn’t care.

Their conversation had settled things in his mind. Not everything, he was sure, but many things. Perhaps even most.

But Shepard… He didn’t know what to make of her. Had her attitude truly turned around so quickly? Was it really just as she said, that thinking over his story had changed how she saw him?

(He was tempted to entertain the idea that she’d simply been grumpy from it being the middle of the night but he’d been on the receiving end of her “please give me an excuse to shoot you” look one too many times to do so.)

What was he going to do with her for a week? And a-half? Surely she’d get bored. He had no intention of taking off of work. He had tasks to tend. Meetings to attend.

But he couldn’t deny that the idea of not being left on his own was a relief. But on the other hand, shouldn’t he be able to be alone?

Memories of his time on Cronos filled his mind. He swallowed. Perhaps that sounded less appealing after all. Too many nights alone arguing with the Reapers in his mind. The whispers nudging him down paths he began to forget his reasons for avoiding. Too many nights where his only companions had been some bourbon and a cigarette. Staying awake reading reports, chasing answers, pushing his researchers. Anything to drown out the constant pressure.

And now he was alone. Entirely alone and drowning in memories.

Perhaps it was too much to ask for.

Maybe he could ask her to leave after a few nights. He would take the blame with Oleg. Surely a few nights with Amelia and then a few more alone were doable. He could handle it, he was sure.

Jack stayed out for several hours. He wandered and found an out of the way coffee shop where he sat down and watched people scurrying by as he drank—and thought.

Somehow, by dragging everything out into the open and naming it, Amelia had helped. Which, admittedly, he hadn’t expected after she’d threatened him. But to his annoyance, she’d been right, which he could practically imagine her holding over him for the rest of his life.

(But then, why would she? She was going to go home after this nonsense was through, and they’d go back to only seeing each other when Anderson and Hackett forced their hands. And she wasn’t the type to do that in public. No, it would only ever be when they were alone. And why would they be alone after this? There was no cause for it.)

He took a sip of his coffee.

This was getting ridiculous.

He finished his coffee and walked home.

He managed to arrive at the same time as Amelia. She was carrying a small duffel bag that out of habit he offered to carry. She objected, citing her status as special forces. He parried and pointed out that it was only polite. And round and round they went, back and forth until they arrived at his front door.

She smirked triumphantly while he unsealed it. He sighed.

“Are you always this difficult?” he asked.

“That’s what Hackett tells me anyway,” she replied cheerfully as she set her bag down on the floor next to the couch. “Well. Now what?”

“I suggest we plan intricate ways to kill Oleg and how to get away with it,” Jack replied, his tone practically bone dry.

Amelia laughed. “Oh, that’s easy. I can use my Spectre powers to justify it.”

“Comforting.”

“I tend to think so, yes.”

“That’s because you’re on the right side of your gun.”

She shrugged carelessly and walked into the kitchen. “I can make myself useful,” she offered.

Jack watched her go a little incredulously before realizing he should be concerned.

“Useful?” he called after her as he caught up.

“Don’t worry. I know my shortcomings. I can get the coffee pot going though.”

“Oh.” Relief. “Good.”

He watched her work, disturbed by how quickly she’d gotten used to his kitchen. As the machine ran, they exchanged awkward glances as their situation began to settle in.

Amelia smiled sheepishly. “Thanks for this,” she said. “I—Well.”

She looked away and left it unfinished.

“Well, I suppose the least I can do is shelter you from Oleg’s wrath. Though I’m certain you don’t need to stay the whole time.”

Amelia eyed him too shrewdly for comfort. “I'm not so sure, middle of the night calls and all.”

“I’m also certain that won’t be repeated.”

“We’ll see,” she replied as the machine beeped.

They sat in something that almost approached a contented silence after dinner that night. The sun was setting and they had decided to go back out to the balcony.

Amelia was reading a datapad, a small glass of wine by her side. Jack was looking out over the horizon, a wiser amount of bourbon than the previous night and a lone cigarette with him. He had no desire to repeat the mistakes from before.

He put the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled, watching Amelia as closely as he could without her noticing.

It was better, easier with her company. The thought felt as though it should disturb him, but he sat with it.

Dare he admit that perhaps he hadn’t come as far as he’d thought since the end of the war? Maybe that was what Oleg and the others had seen.

“Credit for your thoughts?” Amelia interrupted gently enough that he wasn’t startled.

He looked over at her, directly now, as he set down his cigarette. “Haven’t you had enough of them by now?”

She set down her datapad with a little shrug. “It’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

“An assignment?” He couldn’t hide the bitterness the little sting from her question brought out.

She looked steadily at him for a moment before looking down at her wineglass. She absentmindedly traced the lip of it with her finger.

“Maybe at first.” She paused then admitted, “But not now.”

He found himself curious and torn as to whether he wanted to know or not. Questions couldn’t be unasked, and answers were given even in silence.

She looked up and over the city, biting her lip in a gesture he now recognized as meaning that she was in thought.

He picked up his cigarette again. He’d smoked more this week than he had in the past year. Idly he wondered if that had exacerbated the previous night’s crisis, reminding him too much of desperate moments.

He stubbed it out.

He took a sip of his bourbon and set the glass down.

Maybe he should branch out, find a new drink. One that didn’t threaten to drown him in memory.

Restless, he stood and walked to the railing, feeling, as he went, Amelia’s eyes on him.

“You okay?” she asked, her tone neutral.

He could tell she was afraid of saying the wrong thing, or perhaps of saying too much. And not of him, either. She’d never been afraid of him after all and had no reason to start now—especially as an armed Spectre.

He turned around to face her, leaning back against the railing. “Shepard, don’t start tip toeing now. Not when you’ve repeatedly threatened to shoot me—and actually shot me—and are currently armed while holding your Spectre card.”

She grinned unrepentantly and the sight eased something undefinable in him. A smile almost tugged at his lips in response. He shook his head. She walked over and joined him, facing the city. Again, just in arm’s reach.

“Why did you call me last night?”

Jack sighed. He’d hoped she wouldn’t ask again. “Well, you were the only one available.”

Even her silence was unimpressed.

“Harper,” she said sharply.

“What happened to ‘Jack’?”

“What happened to ‘Amelia’?”

They each stared pointedly at the other. They were treading onto dangerous ground now, Jack thought. Each aware something had changed for them, neither wanting to voice it.

“It’s been a long day,” he finally said, fully aware he was dodging everything.

She gave him a knowing look but nodded in acknowledgment. “Good night, then,” she said.

He hesitated before turning away. “Good night,” he echoed.

5

Again Jack awoke before Amelia. He paused in the doorway from the hallway to the living room and watched her sleep for a moment, afraid she’d catch him if he lingered too long. She slept on her side, her red hair all a mess. Her expression relaxed.

She was clearly deeply asleep and he suspected it might be a while before she awoke. He debated with himself whether he should slip out and grab a coffee or run the risk that the machine running with the accompanying scent of fresh coffee would wake her.

He settled on the latter and wondered how annoyed she’d be.

About twenty minutes later, she appeared in the kitchen, disheveled and grumpy enough to be amusing. Wordlessly, he handed her the mug he’d prepared for her.

A few minutes later, she set the mug down and ran a hand through her hair, trying and failing to straighten it a bit. It took effort not to let her see his amusement.

“Thanks,” she finally said.

“You’re welcome.” He turned to start pulling out what he needed to make breakfast. “Amelia.”

He glanced quickly at her, just enough to see something flickering quickly across her face, before turning his attention to his task.

He could feel her eyes on him as he worked, cracking eggs into a bowl, heating a pan, and getting toast going.

“I can safely say that I never expected to watch you cook, Jack,” she said after a minute or two.

Her return of the subtle emphasis on his name made him smile a little. He stirred the eggs in the pan, careful to make sure they didn’t overcook. A detente of sorts then.

“I’d wager there’s lots of things you never expected to watch me do,” he shot back.

He didn’t quite know how but he definitely heard surprise in the sound her coffee cup made when she set it down.

As he turned the heat off he heard her opening cupboard doors. “To your left,” he said.

She followed his direction and grabbed two plates before getting the toast that had popped up while he finished at the stove. He dished up the eggs and they walked together to the dining room, the silence between them feeling somewhere squarely between comfortable and uncomfortable.

Jack was still feeling his way through the realization that her presence was a comfort more than a nuisance. He couldn’t—dared not—even begin to guess what she was thinking. Whenever he looked at her, all he could see was a general thoughtfulness.

When Amelia finished eating, she set her fork down and looked at him. “I didn’t really think about the part where you’d need to add feeding a biotic to your list. Thank you, though.”

Jack tested different responses as he took a drink from his coffee. Finally he settled on one. “I’ll send you out with a grocery list so I can get some work done.” The accompanying smirk was more teasing than anything else.

She laughed, the sound continuing to give him entirely too many warm feelings for her. “Fair’s fair,” she replied. “But honestly you don’t have to cook every meal…”

He shook his head emphatically. “Amelia, you aren’t allowed to do more in that kitchen than get out plates and make coffee.” He paused and gave her a direct look. “I know for a fact that you’re a menace in the kitchen.”

She looked at him as though she couldn’t decide what to protest first.

“Absolutely not,” he said before she could decide.

He didn’t end up working while she was gone. Out on the balcony, he pulled a cigarette out but didn't light it. Instead he flipped it between his fingers, lost in thought--again. This time, he was remembering the arguments they'd had about the Collector base. How calm and firm and certain she'd been in the face of his anger and the way he'd lashed out at her.

It was difficult to remember his insistence that she owed him for what he'd done. He'd known as soon as he said it that it was ridiculous. She'd no more asked him to bring her back than she'd asked him for a ship or a crew. He'd done it all, necessity, he'd argued.

Had she flinched? He couldn't remember. Probably not, though. Just as she hadn't when they'd faced each other on the Citadel—just as she hadn't when she'd shot him.

He slipped the cigarette back into its case.

He took the rest of the day off, and if Amelia found it odd, she didn't say so. She'd buried herself in a pile of datapads, emerging for coffee and, at his insistence, lunch.

"Shepard—"

She cleared her throat significantly.

He sighed. "Who makes sure you eat usually?"

"Um." She pulled a piece of lettuce out of her sandwich and ate it. "The ship's cook, really. Kaidan if we're out on a mission together."

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, thoroughly exasperated. "Amelia…"

She shrugged. "I don't see why it would bother you, to be honest."

He dropped his hand as he realized he didn't want to get into that discussion. "Habit," he eventually drawled.

She set her sandwich down. "Habit," she echoed dubiously.

"Mm. Project Lazarus cost four billion credits in addition to what we needed for the Normandy. You were expensive and I didn't want my investment to go to waste," Jack replied as matter-of-factly as he could, keenly aware of how it sounded—and equally aware that it was only part of the reason.

Amelia's eyes narrowed as she studied him in response. Her jaw tightened ever so briefly before she settled on taking a bite of her sandwich as a reply.

Jack turned his attention to his own lunch, deciding that it was better to focus on anything else than her reactions—or lack thereof.

"You're an ass, Harper." Amelia's voice—mostly good-natured—broke into Jack's thoughts.

"Better to figure that out sooner rather than later," he replied easily.

Her eyes widened with surprise before she gave him a half-smile in return.

He returned her smile with a smirk of his own which seemed to break the tension between them. They spent the rest of their meal chatting amicably about the rebuilding and how far they'd all come since the end of the war.

It was nice to remember that he actually enjoyed cooking, and while Amelia wasn't exactly the most discerning in her tastes, she was highly appreciative of his efforts. And cooking for two was much nicer than cooking just for himself—which he rarely did these days, finding it too much effort on top of everything else.

They'd also continued their habit of sitting on the balcony. Jack kept an eye on the irregular building process, watching their progress with considerable interest. Despite everything, it seemed to be working well.

Again, he pulled out his cigarette case, but instead of immediately taking out a cigarette, he fiddled with it between his fingers, rubbing the edges, flipping it back and forth.

Amelia joined him at the railing. "I don't mind," she offered.

"Hmm?" He looked over at her, not fully understanding what she meant.

She gestured at the case in his hand. "You've barely smoked since I got here."

He slipped the case back into his pocket. "Yes, well, I've been considering finding new vices." He leaned against the railing and looked out. "Something with fewer memories attached to it," he admitted before he could stop himself.

She looked at him with understanding and he bristled at it. He'd wanted her understanding for so long, but now that he had it, he found it changed her too much. She treated him too gently, and he resented it. He preferred it when she told him hard truths and threatened him into compliance—he preferred it, in short, when she challenged him.

"Tell me, Shepard," he began, and to his satisfaction he saw her eyes narrowing with irritation, "how's my ship these days?" He glanced at her, noting the tightness in her jaw. "You ran off with her and I don't hear much these days…"

"My ship is doing just fine," she replied, just on the wrong side of civil. "The Alliance was finally able to finish the retrofits they started before the war—about a year ago now, I think." She gave him a smug look.

"Retrofits? She was perfect, fully up to regulations." He was scandalized.

She shook her head and laughed—a genuine one. "Who in their right mind puts fish tanks on a frigate?"

"Well." She had him there, he had to admit. "I—" His plan to annoy her into arguing with him was failing—and it was his own fault.

"You what?" She turned and faced him directly, studying him carefully. "Jack, you can't be serious."

She had him. He tried to shrug nonchalantly. "I like fish," he finally admitted.

"On a warship?"

Luck seemed to smile on him as a memory came back to him. "You had a hamster! They don't exactly belong on frigates either!"

"How do you know about that?" She was frowning with suspicion but the amusement twinkling in her eyes told another story.

"I got reports on you," he replied defensively.

"You were impossible then and you still are now," she said.

Was that warmth in her tone or was that merely wishful thinking?

"Admit it, Shepard, you'd be bored otherwise," he shot back.

She looked at him with surprised amusement. "Yes," she replied after a moment.

And they were both surprised into silence by her admission.

She turned to look out again and he mirrored the motion though he was far too distracted to pay any attention to the view. Amelia was, much to his dismay, good company.

"And the windows?" she asked.

"What?"

She turned back to him, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I grew up in space. Windows aren't a part of Alliance architecture or ship design. It was one of the first things I noticed."

Jack sighed. "I was trying to goad you into an argument. Not—" he gestured vaguely, "—whatever this is."

Her hip rested on the railing and amusement was definitely glittering in her eyes. Her smile had grown too. "Why would you do that?"

"You're being too—too solicitous. Too understanding." He waved his hands in frustration. "It's irritating."

"Wait, you like it when I argue with you?" She looked at him with surprise, perplexity.

Unknowingly, he stepped closer to her. "Shepard, at no point in our relationship have you been anything but combative and honest. I have come, apparently, to depend on it."

She blinked at him, her mouth slightly open in surprise. "I…" She straightened. "Well."

Jack put a hand to his forehead, tired, exasperated, feeling on the verge of a headache, and suddenly understanding all too well why he had called Amelia Shepard of all people the other night. And not at all sure he wanted to share the insight with her.

Steven and David had taken the approach of ignoring most of what had happened during the war. It was easier and anyway, they all knew he'd been indoctrinated. What was there to gain from rehashing it?

Oleg knew all, of course, but perhaps after all the years of watching him, in many ways, protecting him, he'd gotten too used to treating him gingerly. He was honest enough, a little too fond of telling Jack when he was being an idiot, but… he hovered and protected.

Amelia did none of those things—or used to. She looked at what he'd done and affirmed what he knew to be true. But her understanding was clearly a double-edged sword, and now that she understood him properly… As she'd said, "Well."

Amelia was studying him carefully. "I think I understand," she said after a moment.

And this time, he thought she really did.

6

Another night, another nightmare. Though admittedly, Jack hadn't had one since Amelia had come along. He lay there, sheets tangled around his legs, waiting for his heart to calm, for the surge of panic to fade.

And when it finally did, he grabbed his robe and slipped as quietly as he could out to the balcony.

He sat down and looked over the twinkling lights of the city. They'd advanced a little, he realized. Progress. Tangible progress.

The alignment between the rebuilding city and his own life was too disturbingly convenient, and he decided he hated convenient metaphors.

(Unfortunately, despite the nightmare, he, too, had felt tangible progress since Amelia had come along. An irritating fact that he resented.)

In defiance, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it before walking over to the railing. There he smoked as he looked out over the city, lost in thought. The scent filled the air and he realized it was no longer the comfort it had once been—now it reminded him too much of the long, silent hours on Cronos. He stubbed out the cigarette.

After a moment, he reached up to touch the scar he'd told them to leave on his left shoulder. It marked the wound left by the bullet Amelia had shot him with. The change in the texture of his skin was a physical marker of what had happened—standing in for his lack of real memories of the end of the war, that period when the Reapers had taken complete control.

Or perhaps, it was more accurate to say he had memories but they were vague and ill formed. Snatches. Sounds. Impressions.

The first thing he truly remembered was the quiet in his head when the Reapers left. The sensation of being alone for the first time in decades—and the relief that came with it. He'd wanted to thank her for freeing him. For doing what he hadn't been able to.

But when Earth filled his vision, when all he could see was their home…

"Couldn't sleep?"

Amelia's voice interrupted his reverie. He blinked as he reoriented himself, realizing just how thoroughly he'd been lost in thought.

"No," he finally answered.

She came up beside him and stood shoulder to shoulder with him. To his surprise, her presence helped, and the memories began to loosen their grip on him.

She nodded silently, seemingly waiting for more.

"I often can't," he added.

She glanced at him, and this time that grating understanding wasn't there. She simply nodded as though it were expected that of course he wouldn't be able to sleep. She turned, resting her hip on the railing.

"Guilty conscience keeping you awake?"

"Not this time, no."

She arched an eyebrow in surprise and studied him. His grip on the railing tightened in response.

"Nightmares," she said.

He nodded silently, keeping his eyes forward, on the lights of the city.

She paused. One beat and then two. "I get them too, still, though I imagine we probably dream of different things."

He laughed. It was harsh, bitter. "I suspect so."

The knowing glint in her eye was much more comfortable than the understanding one. The sharp edge of her condemnation easier to handle than her sympathy.

And then she faltered before her expression steeled with resolve.

"Don't, Jack," she said. "Don't use me to hurt yourself."

She mirrored his posture, taking her eyes off of him and turning them over the city. Respite.

Her words struck him and he didn't know how to respond.

"You spent your life fighting for our survival," she began softly, "and I… can't fault you for that. Not when I know what it's like to have that vision in your head. Hell, I saw Sovereign up close and personal along with the whole rest of the Council and had to watch as they all wrote it off as a new Geth capital ship."

He looked down. Her knuckles were white as they gripped the railing. The muscles in her forearms tensed. She was still angry.

"There are times I wake up feeling as though I'd run a mile in my sleep trying to get away from the sounds of Vancouver under attack. I can still smell it. And Thessia haunts me. The sounds of Reapers firing their beams. The—screams. The blood in the air. And all I can do is wonder what if I'd been more convincing? What if I'd argued better? Done more? How many would still be alive today if I had just been better?"

"Amelia—"

She shook her head. "How can I fault your desperation when I can't think of what I wouldn't have done to save even a hundred more?"

Amelia turned and looked at him. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I won't be your judge and I certainly won't be your jury. So don't you dare, Jack Harper, turn me into your executioner. Not again."

She turned and left.

Jack remained on the balcony after Amelia returned to bed as her words rang in his ears. As he stood there, he realized that he had misunderstood her. He'd always thought she viewed her shooting him the same way he did—a necessity. And perhaps she did too in a sense, surely she must, but she was grieved by it.

He hadn't known. Hadn't even guessed.

In hindsight, he thought, it was very much in character for her. How often had she pleaded with him to join her? To hand his resources over to her?

He had the urge, suddenly, to go to her. To tell her—what?

Jack sighed and the night's exhaustion hit him with full force. He turned to return to his own bed.

Amelia, however, had other ideas. She was sitting in the semi-dark when he began to walk through the living room.

"Jack," she said quietly.

He stopped and turned to her, waiting.

She let out a little sigh before beckoning him over. "Sit with me."

He paused, hesitating.

"Come on." She was insisting, what else could he do but listen?

He walked over and sat down. She huffed a little laugh, the sort that comes after the tears have come and gone. "I won't bite. Promise," she said. "I just—need some company for a bit. Even if it is you."

"I deserved that," he admitted.

"Yeah," she said bluntly.

Bluntness he could work with. "I'd expected you to be asleep by now," he replied.

"Only in some other universe where I am not stuck sleeping on Jack Harper's couch right after—" she gestured towards the balcony doors, "—that."

She was still angry then. He should, he realized, probably say something, acknowledge something.

"It wasn't consciously done," he finally said.

She rolled her eyes. He couldn't see it, but he could tell anyway.

"You— I—" She stopped, evidently giving up.

He decided to change the subject.

"You did what was necessary on the Citadel. I always assumed you knew that I knew it… If anything, I'd wanted to thank you, really. You… Well. Having a clear head for the first time in so long, especially after—" He stopped unable, unwilling to revisit those days.

But Amelia seemed to understand regardless. "Oh," she said quietly. "I…didn't know."

"So I've learned," Jack replied dryly.

She reached out and smacked his arm with a laugh. "You're awful."

"As I said, better you figure that out now rather than later," he returned.

She laughed again but he heard more than amusement in it. She was forcing it, trying perhaps to reclaim some sense of normality between them.

The weight of what she had seen in him still hung between them. Jack himself still didn't know what to do with her observation.

Somehow, though, there was a comfort to sitting in near-darkness. Together. Jack didn't understand it, not really. But he could feel it, the loosening of something indefinable.

"The change is unsettling," he said quietly. "I've realized that Oleg and the others, they tend to treat me as… as—an unexploded ordnance. You don't. Until you suddenly did. And then you didn't again." His tone turned wry at the end. He couldn't blame her and he didn't want her to think he did.

Amelia sighed beside him. "I understand," she said after a moment. "I… don't think I had quite realized how things stood in my own head until I was yelling at you."

Jack scoffed a little. "I wouldn't call that yelling."

She exhaled a sharp laugh. "Are you impossible on purpose or is that just your nature?"

"I come by it entirely naturally," Jack replied, injecting an air of superiority into his tone.

Amelia giggled and shifted so that they were sitting side by side. She sighed again and this time it sounded to him as though she were letting a difficult thing go, and indeed, when she spoke again, her voice sounded far lighter. "I'm going to be useless tomorrow—today, really."

"Don't worry," Jack replied. "I have plenty of coffee."

7

Jack woke up at some indeterminate time, stiff, more than a little sore, and disoriented. He held still, keeping his eyes shut as he tried to remember what had happened. A weight at his side began to shift, prompting his memory: he and Amelia had talked until they'd fallen asleep, awkwardly, on the couch. And now he had no idea what time it was.

He tried to move his arm to activate his omnitool while mentally cursing the lack of clock in his living room. That, however, did it, and Amelia woke.

He held still as her eyes met his and realization flooded in.

But instead of any of the expected violence or even partial-violence in the form of her usual threats, her eyes glittered with amusement and her head fell back on his chest.

"Well," she said after a moment.

"I'd say this is awkward, but really it's just uncomfortable," Jack replied dryly.

To his surprise, she responded by nestling further into his side. "I don't know about that," she said lightly.

He felt her wince. "All right, maybe not. This actually is an uncomfortable position."

He couldn't help the laugh. "You're unexpectedly awake," he teased.

He felt her answering laugh against him. "True," she admitted. She yawned, then, undermining her own point.

"All right, now I really am getting up. One of us should make the coffee," Jack replied, still amused. He shifted and Amelia fell into the spot he'd occupied with a laugh.

He stood fully and turned, looking properly at her for the first time that morning. Her expression caught his attention immediately. Softer, more relaxed than he'd seen so far. They were both, clearly, still carrying their wounds from the war, from what had gone on before. But inexplicably, here, together, they seemed to have found some semblance of calm within the storm—even if they were buffeted by it from time to time.

She gave him a small smile. "I'll be right behind you," she said.

And she was. It didn't take him long to get the machine going, but just as he started it, she entered the kitchen. She leaned against the counter top, studying him with a thoughtful look.

Though he'd just protested rather strongly against her thoughtful understanding, this time it felt different. As though she properly understood him now—there was an acceptance alongside it, under it even.

"Well, Jack Harper—" she broke into his thoughts.

In turn, he interrupted her. "Must you use my full name?" he asked.

She grinned. "Yes, definitely, it's good for dramatic moments, don't you think? Gives them weight."

"It makes you sound like my mother," he retorted dryly.

Instead of putting her off, that only added to her amusement. She laughed. "Now you're giving me ideas about little Jack," she said. "Tell me, what sorts of trouble did you used to get into?" She tapped her chin thoughtfully.

Jack decided that he'd erred and preferred it when she'd been about to make a dramatic pronouncement. "Amelia," he said, trying to redirect her.

She looked at him again and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"What had you been about to say?"

She paused and looked at him, her expression shifting before settling on determined. Before he could decide that worried him even more than any of the previous options, she'd walked over to him, pulled him down, announced, "This," and promptly kissed him. Thoroughly.

That hadn't really been what he'd expected her to do. Not at all. It took him a moment to catch up to what was happening, but when he did, he raised his hands and clutched her to himself, unabashed in his desperation.

Pieces settled into place as he took every bit she offered him and returned of himself whatever he could.

"Shepard," he murmured.

"Incorrigible man," she replied, which was, he thought, an unnecessary mouthful to slip in in between kisses.

"You were practically itching for an excuse to shoot me just yesterday."

She rested her head on his chest and laughed. "Two days ago. Or was it three?" Amelia lifted her head to kiss him again.

"Irrelevant."

"Harper."

"Shepard."

"I—well. You're not entirely awful. You might, actually, be just the right amount of awful to complement my—"

"Amelia."

She really was very nice to hold. And kiss. Even if she did talk too much.

Jack studied Amelia bemusedly as they sat together on his balcony with their respective coffee cups. She looked over at him.

"What is it?" she asked, her eyes glittering with amusement, as though she knew full well what was confounding him.

"You," he replied dryly.

She gave him a satisfied grin. "Oh?"

"Too much innocence in that, Shepard."

"If you were within reach, I'd hit you."

"That's precisely why I'm here and you're there."

Amelia laughed with delight and lifted her coffee cup to her lips. She gave a minute shake of her head.

"All right, all right," she said as she set her cup back down. She gestured for him to continue. "I'm listening."

"You changed your mind quickly," Jack said. "I'd just like to be sure you won't change it back just as quickly."

Amelia's smile shifted into a thoughtful expression. "It was very disconcerting at times, you know, we'd be arguing over something significant—like you gambling with the lives of my crew—but suddenly I'd just have this little stray thought wondering what it would be like to kiss you."

"You're joking."

She drew an X over her heart. "Not even a little. You can imagine how odd it felt." She glanced away and he had the sense she suddenly felt awkward. "I, um, well, that's not typical for me," she added with a little shrug, her eyes still avoiding his.

"Well," Jack said, unable to keep the satisfaction from his voice.

Amelia glanced at him as her smile grew and she rolled her eyes at him. "Incorrigible," she said, mostly to herself.

He was tempted to tell her that he'd fallen in love with her years ago now, but looking at her and hearing her shy confession, he decided she wasn't ready to hear it. Instead, he took a different route forwards.

"This wasn't why I called you," he said.

Amelia cradled her coffee cup in her hands, her thumbs tracing indeterminate patterns on it. "I didn't think so."

"Good," he replied. "The last thing I need is anyone from the Council coming after me for tying up their favorite Spectre for a few days."

She laughed heartily at that. "They wouldn't." She grinned at him. "They give me a lot of leeway with my assignments these days. I'm almost more ornamental than useful—too well known to work in the shadows."

Jack shook his head. "A shame to waste your skills like that," he commented.

Amelia's answering shrug held too much regret for his liking. "The Alliance isn't much different, to be honest. I play more politics than anything. Running around enforcing treaties from the war is my main business these days. It gets dull… which is why when Anderson offered me this assignment, I jumped at the chance."

"Did you really?" Jack couldn't resist the urge to needle her just a little.

She shot him an unamused look before smiling. "Yeah," she admitted. "I did."

"In that case, I think I'm feeling better about the odds you won't change your mind again so quickly."

8

Amelia ended up staying until Oleg returned. Hackett and Anderson were not long behind, either.

They were out on the balcony—as always—coffee cups in hand, heads bent over a datapad as they debated a design Jack was working on for a new ground vehicle. The doorbell chimed and Jack used his omnitool to admit Oleg who found them quickly enough.

He stared at them in surprise, eyes bouncing from one to the other and back again. Jack smirked at him and pointed to the chair. "Sit, Oleg, and stop staring. It's awkward."

Oleg laughed as he sat down. "Well," he said, "this isn't what I expected."

"I doubt it was what David had in mind either," Jack replied dryly.

Oleg chuckled and turned to Amelia. "So, Shepard, you're both still alive I see."

She shot Jack a fond look before arching an eyebrow at Oleg. "Of course we are, why would you expect otherwise?"

Oleg paused, stunned, and blinked at her in surprise. Then he laughed. "Perfect," he said.

They chatted for a few minutes, catching up on logistical matters, before Oleg turned to leave.

He stood and looked at Amelia, "You'll be good for each other, I think," he said, before nodding a good bye to them both and leaving.

Amelia watched him go for a moment. "I hope Anderson and Hackett will take this so well."

"They will," Jack replied with a small smile. "I take it you'll be leaving shortly."

"I probably should, but maybe I'll wait until morning." She looked carefully at Jack. "You'll be fine?"

"I will," he replied. "I am."

To his mind, she looked needlessly worried, so he reached over and grabbed her hand, threading his fingers through hers. He realized he didn't know how to explain what she'd given him.

Amelia squeezed his hand in response. "You never did explain why you called me."

"Ah, yes, well. I suspect part of it was that you could be counted upon to be rather painfully honest." He hoped the tease would distract her.

It didn't. "Jack."

"Amelia," he replied in perfect seriousness.

She shot him an exasperated look and began to pull her hand away.

He tightened his grip on her hand. "I've loved you since you ran off with my ship," he said.

She blinked. "What?"

He huffed a laugh, somewhere between amused and indignant at needing to explain himself. "You… are as you've always been. Straightforward, honest almost to a fault, and you see things that others don't want to see. That is why I called you."

He could tell his confession had taken her thoroughly by surprise, so he waited for her, a smile tugging at his lips as he did so.

"Oh," she finally said after a moment. "I—That's unexpected, honestly."

"I'm sure if you think about it long enough you'll probably realize it was obvious all along," he replied dryly.

Amelia rolled her eyes at him. "Harper," she said with exasperation.

"Shepard."

"You really are incorrigible."

"I know."